Normal
by allthingsdecent
Summary: House and Cuddy bump into Lucas and his very pregnant wife at the mall.


**This small fic was based on not one, not two, but three prompts! (Okay, the third prompt was my own, but that kinda counts.) The biggest one (at the mall) was from Princess Party GIF, then I borrowed parts of the second prompt (the first conversation in bed) from my favorite Frenchie, and the third one—at the park—was my own. Just felt like doing a little S7 fluff, in honor of (sniff) 5/17. - atd**

"I never thought I'd see the day Gregory House accompanied me to a mall," Cuddy said, beaming at him.

"That makes two of us," he admitted.

He was wearing a baseball cap, slung low over his eyes, for fear of being recognized.

"It makes me feel —dare I say?—almost normal," she said.

"Normal is overrated."

"True. . . but every once in a while, normal is kinda nice," she said, taking his hand.

"Remember I'm only here because you promised that later you'd—"

"I remember," she interrupted, adding with an ironic chuckle: "As if you'd let me forget."

House looked around the mall with disgust, as though he had stumbled across some sort of particularly grisly crime scene.

"Why must they use florescent lights?" he said. "It's not like the people here are all that attractive—present company excepted, of course."

"Nice save," Cuddy cracked.

"Thank you." He peered at an overweight couple, dragging their screaming, grimy child out of a Gap Kids. "Seriously, the lights aren't doing them any favors."

"I dunno," Cuddy said with a shrug. "The mall must've done a study that it encourages people to do more shopping."

"You're right," House said. "Everyone here seems zombified."

He held out his arms, and began droning, zombie-style: "Must buy khakis. Must drink Frappuccino. Must max-out credit card. It's no wonder they set Dawn of the Dead in a shopping mall."

She swatted him, playfully. She actually liked his little digressions.

"Speaking of credit cards," Cuddy said. "That shirt would look good on you."

She pointed in the store window at a sky-blue linen shirt.

"I think you mean, that shirt would look good on Wilson."

"It'll bring out the blue in your eyes."

"Why do women always want to bring out the blue in my eyes?" House said. "It's not like my eyes look muddy brown unless I'm wearing a blue shirt."

"It'll just make you more devastatingly handsome than you already are," she teased.

"Well," he said. "When you put it that way."

He leaned down to kiss her, then started devouring her neck.

"Get off!" she screamed, girlishly.

"My, my, what an unpleasant surprise."

They both looked up, startled.

It was Lucas, standing next to an extremely pregnant woman.

"Lucas!" Cuddy said, shocked. Her face had turned several shades of red.

"Lisa," Lucas said evenly. Then he nodded coldly at House.

House nodded back and the two men—former friends, now sworn enemies—contemplated each other.

"Truly shocked to see you two together one year later," Lucas said. "After all, you hooked up under such well-considered, rational conditions."

"Guess you can't fight true love," House said, putting his arm around Cuddy.

"No you can't," Lucas said. "Speaking of which, I'd like you to meet my _wife_, Marcy."

"Your wife. . ." Cuddy said, shocked.

House stared, brazenly, at Marcy's very swollen belly.

"I wasn't aware they had shotgun stores at this mall," he cracked.

Lucas laughed mirthlessly, getting the joke.

"It's true. She was pregnant when we got married. But that's not why I married her. We're in love. And we can't wait to start our lives together—as a family."

Now it was his turn to put his arm around Marcy. She was pretty, in a tacky sort of way—with straight blonde hair and an elaborate manicure. She seemed like the kind of woman who might be secretary to a private eye—which, in fact, she was.

"I'm very, uh, happy for you," Cuddy said. House eyed her. She seemed surprisingly flustered by this encounter.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," Lucas said. "But we're heading over to Babies R Us. Gotta stock up on diapers."

"I don't think they sell adult diapers there," House said. Then he added brightly: "Oh, you meant for the _baby_."

"Hilarious as ever House," Lucas said. Then he turned to his wife. "Let's go, sweetie."

"Nice to meet you," Marcy said politely.

"Nice to meet you, too," Cuddy replied.

As they walked away, they heard Marcy say to Lucas: "Was that her?"

House scratched his head.

"Well, that wasn't awkward at all," he said to Cuddy, once they were out of sight.

"Not one bit," she said, still distracted.

"You wanna go try on that shirt?" he said gamely. "Maybe I'll become the kind of guy who wears blue linen shirts after all. Stranger things have happened—crop circles, the Bermuda Triangle, the enduring popularity of Adam Sandler."

Cuddy blinked at him.

"Actually, I think I just want to go home," she said.

"Really?" he said, studying her face.

"Yeah," she said. "The lights in here are giving me a headache."

#####

That night, as they climbed into bed, he wasn't even thinking about cashing in on the lap dance she had promised him in exchange for going to the mall.

He was more than a little freaked out by how, well, freaked outshehad seemed after running into Lucas and his new bride.

"You okay?" he said, once she turned off the lights.

"Yeah," she said, smiling weakly at him. "But do you mind if we postpone the, uh, thing?"

"Of course," he said. He continued to study her. "What's on your mind tonight? Are you still upset about running into Lucas?"

"I guess," she said. "I mean, it's not every day you bump into your ex-fiancé at the mall with his now very pregnant new wife."

House swallowed a bit.

"Were you . . .jealous?"

"No," she said, firmly. "Nothing like that. It was just weird. . .Unexpected."

They were now facing each other on the pillows, almost nose to nose.

"Do you ever have any. . .regrets?" he said.

"God no!" Cuddy said. "Leaving Lucas for you was the best decision of my life."

"But maybe you're jealous of the . . .normalcy of it all. Weddings. Babies. You said so yourself: Every once in a while, normal is kind of nice."

"Don't be silly," she said, reassuringly. "I couldn't be happier with our lifestyle."

"Our lifestyle," House said. "You make it sound like we're cultmembers living on a commune."

"Well, I am and always have been a member of the Cult of Gregory House," she said with a smile, idly tracing his hand with her finger.

She was hoping that would be the end of the discussion, but he was—as usual—like a dog with a bone.

"Why are you on the pill?" he blurted out suddenly.

"_What_?"

That actually took her by surprise. She let go of his hand.

"It's a simple question: Why are you on the pill?"

"The usual reason," she said. "So I don't get pregnant."

"But why don't you want to get pregnant? I mean, we never even discussed it. Maybe I want a kid."

"Do you?"

"This isn't about me. This is about you."

"I would think this was about _us_."

"But you never even asked. You just assumed I didn't want a kid. Or"—his voice got a bit growly— "maybe you assumed I'd suck as a father."

"I don't think you suck as a father! You're great with Rachel."

"I'm hardly a father to her and you know it. More like a fun-loving uncle."

"She adores you," Cuddy said.

"And I adore her," House said evenly. "But I'm not her father. You barely even let me alone with her."

"You babysat for her that one time!"

"Yeah, and she swallowed a dime. So that went well. . ."

"You play alone with her in her room all the time," Cuddy countered.

"Yeah, when you're one room over. Quite a chance you're taking there."

"Do you. . . _want_ to spend more time alone with her?"

House shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. . . I do."

"And, let me get this straight"— she was trying to wrap her brain around it. "You want to have a baby with me?"

"I don't know Cuddy. But when I see you looking at Lucas's pregnant wife with such jealousy, it gives me pause."

"I wasn't jealous. I was just shocked by the whole encounter. Don't read so much into it."

"I'm not."

"Good."

He frowned a bit.

"But let's just say you _did_ get pregnant. . ."

Cuddy sighed.

"House. I'm 41 years old. I've had two miscarriages. I probably couldn't get pregnant if I wanted to."

"And yet you're on the pill."

She closed her eyes.

"We're just going in circles here. House, I assure you, I love my life. I love my daughter. I love you. Isn't that enough?"

"It is. . . _for_ _me_," House said, sulkily.

"Then what are we even talking about?"

#####

About ten weeks later, House and Wilson were sitting on the bench at the Princeton Grove Playground. Ever since that late night conversation, House had been volunteering to take Rachel to the park when Cuddy had her book club. Somehow, he had roped Wilson into joining him today.

"Everyone thinks we're a gay couple," Wilson said, amused. "I keep getting these tolerant, 'I approve of your lifestyle' smiles."

House shrugged.

"Good. Then maybe some of the Real Housewives of Princeton will stop hitting on me."

"Howse!" Rachel yelled, from the top of the slide. "Look!"

And she slid down the slide.

"That's just great, Rach," he said, with false enthusiasm. "Excellent form."

He turned to Wilson. "Why is it not just important that she go down the slide, but that I witness and comment on this blessed event?"

"Children are narcissists at heart," Wilson said. "They demand constant attention." Then he smiled knowingly. "Sound like anyone we know?"

"I wouldn't say Foreman demands _constant_ attention," House said.

Wilson shook his head.

"Howse! Watch this!"

Now Rachel was on the monkey bars, making her way from one bar to the next.

"Awesome, kid," he said idly. Then he glanced at her again. "She actually has surprisingly good upper body strength."

Wilson looked up, nodded sagely, and looked back down at the newspaper he had brought.

House was checking the results of the day's Off Track Betting on his phone.

"Howse! Howse!"

"One second, shorty," he said, scanning to see if he had won the sixth race.

Suddenly, there was an ominous thud sound and then an adult female voice, "Oh my God!" and then the unmistakable—and horrifying—sound of Rachel, in tears.

She had fallen off the monkey bars.

House dropped his phone and sprinted toward her. He, quite literally, ran. For the first time in over a decade, he had forgotten about the pain in his leg.

Wilson was right behind him, but House actually beat him to the scene.

He scooped Rachel up off the ground.

"Howse!" she wailed.

He could tell by the way she was holding her little arm it was broken.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

"It's okay, Rach. It's okay. . ." he said shakily. She was crying and hugging him with her one good arm. There was sand and grass in her hair, but there was no blood and no sign of a concussion or any other internal injury.

He tried to regain his breath.

"Is she going to be okay?" a woman said.

All the mothers had crowded around this horrible tableau—half concerned, half curious. It was the most exciting event of the month: Toddler down.

"She's going to be fine," Wilson said, reassuringly. "We're doctors."

"Figures," one of the mothers mumbled, in an "all the good ones are gay" sort of way.

"I'll get my car," Wilson said, hopping into action, as House, still in a daze, cradled the crying Rachel in his arms.

Seconds later, they were rushing Rachel to the hospital.

House had her in his lap, not the car seat—the transgressions were really piling up at this point, but she wouldn't let go of his neck.

"Owwww, it hurts Howse!" she moaned. "It huuuurts!"

"I know, kid. We're almost there," he said.

Then he turned to Wilson.

"I just looked down for a second. I. . .was checking the race. I swear, it was just a second."

"House, this wasn't your fault," Wilson said, calmly. "There was nothing you could've done, even if you were looking right at her."

House rocked Rachel in his arms, kissed her matted head, and stared out the window, not quite focusing on anything.

"I just looked down for one second," he repeated.

#####

Rachel's arm was, indeed, broken.

"Don't freak out," he said to Cuddy, on the phone.

Of course, she immediately freaked out and bolted out of the book club meeting—her espresso, her gluten free scones (a new recipe!), and her tented copy of _Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother _left on the coffee table—and rushed to the hospital,

It was a clean break. The arm did not need to be reset. It was put in a hot pink cast and she was a very brave girl and didn't cry anymore and House said that her superhero name was The Flying Rachel and he drew a big R in a circle on her cast and they stopped for frozen custard on the way home.

That night, House lay in bed sleeplessly.

"I'm sorry," he said, for what seemed like the fortieth time.

"House, it wasn't your fault," Cuddy said.

"It was, quite literally, my fault. She was under my care."

"It could've happened to anyone. It could've happened when I was watching her, too."

"And yet it didn't," he said. "It happened to me. First, she swallows a dime, now she falls off the monkey bars. No wonder you didn't want to leave her alone with me."

"I never said that—you did. And the minute you volunteered, I was like, 'Book club, here I come!'"

"And now you'll never leave me alone with her again," he muttered.

"Of course I will House," she said, facing him. "You're great with her. It was an accident."

"Admit, just for a second, you blamed me."

"No, I didn't," she said, firmly.

"You think I suck as a father," House said.

Cuddy sighed.

"House, the parenting part comes after the accident, when you take care of her, console her. That's what you did. Rachel was already giggling by the time I got to the hospital."

"We had Nurse Nancy," House explained.

"With the hairy mole?"

"Exactly."

Cuddy smiled. Then she reached over, smoothed his hair. "Wilson said he'd never seen you move so fast than you did in the playground."

"Don't make fun of me," he said. "I was scared."

"I know you were," Cuddy said. "And that's why I love you."

"I love you, too," he said tentatively.

"Can we go to bed now?"

"Yes," he said.

So she kissed him softly on the lips, turned off the light, and they went to sleep.

Several hours later, though, Cuddy woke up, but House was not by her side.

She frowned, put on slippers, padded into the kitchen, where she expected him to be making himself a giant, Dagwood-style sandwich. No sign of him. She peered into the living room, where he sometimes listened to music through his headphones when he couldn't sleep. Not there.

Finally, she realized where he was.

She tip-toed into Rachel's room. He was standing over her crib, watching her sleep.

"Just wanted to make sure the pain meds were working," he whispered.

"Are they?"

"Yeah," he said. "She's sleeping fine."

Now they both watched Rachel's tiny, sleeping form, curled up with her satin-trimmed blanket and her favorite stuffed duck—her bright pink cast visible under the covers.

Cuddy looked at House looking at her daughter.

They were both quiet for a few minutes.

"I was thinking maybe I'd go off the pill," she whispered. "How would you feel about that?"

He looked at her, shocked.

"I'd . . . like that," he said.

"Me too."

THE END


End file.
